


Pink Fucking Super Silver Crystal Power

by NepturnalHarianne



Category: Sailor Moon - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crack, Gen, John 'serenus' Watson, John is Sailor Moon, M/M, Mycroft is the time and space guardian, Pre-Slash, SailorLock, Sort of Crossover, hints of femslash, so very crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NepturnalHarianne/pseuds/NepturnalHarianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, aka Sailor Moon, and Molly, aka Sailor Mercury, are in a bit of a spot of trouble, as they try to fight the strange creature with a taxi sign on his head sent by Jim "Chaos" Moriarty.<br/>Even the rest of the senshis showing up isn't helping much.<br/>Luckily Sherlock, or Sailor Saturn, is there to save the day!<br/>Or is he?</p><p>(Crack thing... be warned XD<br/>Rated for John... swearing XD)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink Fucking Super Silver Crystal Power

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enid_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enid_Black/gifts).



> So, this came along when Enid_Black and I were wondering about superpowers!AUs and we said: We just need a them-with-planet-powers now.  
> That, plus wondering on the nature of Mycroft's umbrella, brought this thing about.
> 
> Beta'd by my lovely breda, Enid_Black! All mistakes are mine ^_^

John dashed to his side, barely avoiding a blast of energy. "Damn Moriarty!", he breathed, hiding from the blasts behind a column. Too bad it probably wouldn't hide him for long.

"Molly! We need a distraction, rise up your mists!" he barked, glancing around and wondering just where the bloody fuck his so-called commander, Irene, had ended up to.

Wasn't HER role that of barking orders around? She even made a LIVING out of it!

"Anderson! Where are Venus, Mars and Jupiter? And Sherlock!  Locate them!"  
“But-”  
“No buts, or I’ll have yours sliced and cooked for dinner. Do it!” he ordered the previously-cat-like creature, as he avoided another beam and changed location, the flaring (and honestly ridiculous) codas of his short coat taking the sting.  
Damn.  
He’d tried his attacks, but as powerful and useful as they were, they usually only worked when the enemy was already in a weakened state. It has, as Sherlock had speculated, something to do with the necessary focus to use such great power as the Silver Crystal’s one.  
Sherlock had basically said that in the hands of someone more competent, John probably wouldn’t need to jump around like a fool and could have exterminated the damned nuisances with a glance.  
The problem was that he was probably right – there were not-normal limits on his powers, he felt them, and they most likely were there for a reason.  
Still, he grimaced as another energy beam almost put a hole in his leg, it could be nice in situations like these.  
“MERCURY!” He shouted, irked, and finally the Molly’s icy, confounding mists started to grow.  
“Goddamnit.” He muttered, jumping down from where he was hiding and landing near his flustered friend. “What took you so long?”  
Molly shrugged, eyes hidden by the visor and scanning the area. “It wouldn’t work, and I’m not sure that even now-”  
She didn’t have to finish, as the shadowy figure of Moriarty’s pawn, a hunched gnarled venom-green figure that had strangely enough a taxi sign on his head, parted the mists easily enough and started shooting _pills_ at them. Without being confounded in the least.  
“Fuck!” He cussed, standing up in front of Molly to at least shield her somehow.  
  
He heard a sling of gunshots, the very familiar crackling of thunder and a raucous shout, and when he opened his eyes a floating circle made of burning bullets was in front of him, each bullet shielding them from a shattered pill and glowing hot-coal orange. His eyes traveled quickly to the monster that had been Jefferson Hope – and what a hideously ironic name for the fucker serial killer whom they were investigating before he transformed and the investigation took the wrong turn, as usual – that at the moment was prone to the ground with lightning showering him and burning up from them (and fuck, the stink was making him nauseous).  
“John! Are you alright?” Sailor Mars shouted, and for a moment he even had the mental presence to be happy that Lestrade had bothered to use his given name: But then again, Sailor Moon was seriously corny and so very horrible and sounded too much like a girl’s name, and everyone still remembered, months from when it happened, when the idiotic Anderson called him _SERENUS_.  
The beating that he’d given the idiot (the Lunar Staff had never been more useful) was the stuff of legends and had worked to inhibit any further use of the name (it had also had the rather flattering side effect of making Sherlock look at him with new respect, at that).  
He was all for using family names, his own was his grandfather’s and his uncle’s names combined (John Hamish, not the OTHER ONE, which he wouldn’t think of again, ever), but he honestly wondered just how senile Queen Selene had been when she’d chosen that damned name for her son.  
“Moon!” John returned to reality with a jerk to find that only a second has passed, and that Jupiter was now shouting at him, thunder making her naturally curly hair seem something more akin to Einstein’s Mad-Scientist Hair. “Can’t do a thing without us here, uh?”  
He scowled at Sally.  
“Just shut up and keep frying him!” John then turned to Molly. “Can you walk?”  
Molly looked at him with a determined expression and nodded, standing up on unsteady legs – she had probably hurt her ankle when he’d pushed her behind him.  
  
They were starting to make their way to safety once again when, suddenly, Mercury pushed him away.  
An explosion took place right where he’d been a second before, where his friend still was.  
“Molly!”  
He tried to reach her but a golden chain made of delicately studded and spiked hearts weaved itself around him, and suddenly John found himself in close proximity of Irene, his commander, engulfed in her chain, right behind a column.  
“Irene! What the fuck are you- we have to get Molly!”  
“Hush.” The firm, seductive voice managed to shut him up, and he glared at her. “There’s no need for that.” The masked woman then pointed and John followed her leather-clad finger (what was that with painted red fingernails at the end of damned _gloves,_ anyway? And really, why was _her_ uniform so flattering, while _his_ just looked so stupid?) with his eyes, just in time to see a delicate wave of sea water unfurl around Molly, whom was now a few feet away from where she’d been before, cradled securely in the arms of a smiling-a-tiny-tiny-tiny-bit-more-truthfully-than-usual Sailor Neptune.  
Anthea’s brows furled down a bit (a really, really, really tiny bit – that woman was so damn frustrating!) as she looked over Molly with something that on normal human beings might have been akin to concern, and he saw Molly smile and turn a bit red, before nodding with that stubbornness of her that came out right at the wrong moments and standing up again on her own.  
He felt a tug on the chain still engulfing him.  
“See, Moonie dear? It’s ok. So stop being concerned about the others and start with yourself, I don’t fancy having Anthea patch your shoulder up again like last time – or a leg or whatever, are we clear?”  
John started to nod before he could catch himself, and then stomped with enough force to break anyone’s foot – anyone’s but Sailor Venus’ it seemed.  
“Let me go, I’m not one of your clients! And where the fuck were you?”  
Irene smiled and he scowled, their eyes having the usual teasing-and-irritated conversation of _are you sure you don’t want to be one of my clients?_ And _fuck no!_ And _Oh? Think Saturn might be jealous then?_ And _I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, shut up,_ And, _we’re not even talking, love_.  
Irene shook her finger with a sigh and the chain dissolved. “I was searching for a solution to this mess. Our normal attacks aren’t working.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Oh, honestly, are you even looking?”  
John turned towards the battlefield – shooting her a look that said clearly _Sherlock’s bad for your already bad behaviour_ , and receiving one that countered just as clearly _Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, “Hamish”_ – and noticed that the creature was still standing while his senshis seemed more and more unnerved, and tired – all but Anthea, who was just as cool as ever.  
“I see.” He tried to ignore the urge to just go in there and try to save his friends, but it must have been evident in his face for Irene’s grimace. Maybe his rugby coach Ella was right, and he really had masochist tendencies. “So? What did you find?”  
“It’s not from our timeline and normal attacks can’t touch them.”  
John’s expression became grim and he shook his head. Not from their timeline, that usually meant…  
“So _he_ ’s coming…?”  
Well, he was rather hoping that that wouldn’t happen.  Sherlock would be unbearably sulky if _he_ showed up and saved their collective arse.  
Irene, though, nodded with a gleeful shine in her eyes.  
  
“He won’t be the one saving the situation.” A low rumbling voice told him in an even tone, and John jumped like a cat suddenly hit by a bucketful of freezing water.  
“Sherlock, dammit! Don’t do that!”  
But Sailor Saturn was ignoring him in favour of staring at Irene. “I see you had him chained up,” he was saying, with all the freezing calm of the world.  
 _Perfect_ , John thought, _the idiot that usually goes in hysteric, manic glee when there’s something not-boring going on just when it’s not needed decides to be all calm and cool and collected as he pleases_.   
That was just what John needed.  
Unfortunately for him, neither of his friend was paying attention to his moods, more content just to stay there and gaze challengingly at each other.  
“Yes,” Irene had in fact replied. “And he was-”  
  
“Oh, would you two shut up!” John’s furious shout drew the end of, had the contenders been both been males, what he would have called a testosterone cock-fight.  
“Sherlock, what did you mean with, _he_ ’s not going to save the day?” His query seemed, strangely enough, to be matched by Irene’s puzzled expression.  
Sherlock looked at him without understanding, his brow furrowed under the tiara (that stupid silly thing, John _hated_ those with a passion), the violet gem making his eyes seem even more alien (and mesmerizing, and just _stop thinking like that_!) than usual.  
“That’s obvious, isn’t it?”  
“It’s not obvious to me,” he uttered the familiar sentence and Saturn grabbed his arm and started tugging him away from Venus.  
“It’s always you, you’re the one that saves the day, not bloody Mycroft or anyone else.”  
John was, well–   _stunned_.  
In reality, he often felt somewhat not really useful to the group, and hearing Sherlock say the contrary like that was a shock.  
“I… Thanks.”  
Of course, Sherlock had to ruin it.  
“Oh come on, you can’t be _that_ idiotic, it _is_ evident. You see but don’t observe, as usual.”  
“What!”  
Sherlock didn’t answer, and John heard Irene laugh and say something that he didn’t want to know, and that had the word _cute_ in it.  
He fisted his hands in frustration, and that was when Sherlock let go of his arm and stepped forward the monster, now kept immobilized by the joint efforts of nearly all the senshis but Venus, Saturn and himself.  
Glancing around, he realized that he was right in the middle of his friends, almost mathematically (or, not almost but just… mathematically, knowing Sherlock), and that Irene had taken position in a certain spot, as if to adhere to some kind of ritual.  
He saw Sherlock putting a hand in an inside pocket of his Belstaff coat (which remained on him upon transformation, barely changed at all. John often mused on the unfairness of that) and suddenly Sailor Moon felt that something was very, very wrong, because-  
  
“You can’t use that!” He shouted, horrified, taking a step forward – or trying, because he found himself suddenly kept in place by Irene’s golden chain and Anthea’s not-so-gentle-now sea-wave.  
“ _Sherlock!_ ” He tried again, struggling with all his might, so much that even Neptune started to look almost somewhat fatigued on that impassible face of hers.  
Sherlock, of course, simply ignored him and, in a trick worthy of the best Mary Poppins cosplay ever, he was slowly withdrawing his hand from his coat pocket, a slim staff with a long, sharp blade on top of it emerging with it.  
The Silence Glaive.  
That was bad, bad news. If Sherlock used it, he would _die_! (In that moment John wasn’t even aware that, apparently, the destruction of the whole fucking solar system ranked lower than Sherlock’s death – he would ponder on that later though)  
“Sherlock!” He tried again, seeing the man, stonily silent, raise up the glaive and then bring it down, down, _down_ -  
And suddenly he was free to move, as Irene’s and Anthea’s powers took the countershock of Sherlock’s attack.  
“Silver Cristal Power!” He called, and later on he wouldn’t even recall doing so, and an enormous wave of _pink power_ (that was the moment, he’d later recall, where the blog title for the investigation fully formed in his head. Also, pink power, really? So, so humiliating…) emerged from him, smothering all the Sailor Senshis in a shielding bubble outside which the world literally crumbled to dust.  
John fell to his knees in slow motion, the crystal hovering in front of him.  
“Fucking, dumb, bloody idiot!” He still managed to cuss, of course. “What was that for?” John panted in Sherlock’s direction, even as relief flooded him at the sight of his best friend, still alive, wound in tight pink ropes of pink fucking super silver crystal power.  
His relief was short lived, of course.  
“John. You did good.”  
“You mean that you _wanted_ this to happen?” Suddenly, John’s Bands of Pink Superpower started to tighten, and at that Sherlock had at least the decency to seem somewhat alarmed.  
The other senshis in the meanwhile ignored them both, used to their bickering as they were, and started applying their powers to the bubble of pink that was keeping them, well, alive.  
That was a small relief for John, whom was able to finally stand up again, and started stalking towards an even more alarmed looking Sherlock, fuming, the Silver Crystal still dangling gleefully in front of him.  
“What the hell where you think-”  
  
“That is a very valid question. One I would like the answer to, Sherlock.”  
The chilly voice came with a white door, that was opening from nowhere, right between John and Saturn.  
Sailor Pluto stepped down the three white-shiny steps and placed himself in front of his brother, his uniform uncannily similar to an office suit and leaning on an _umbrella_ , of all things.  
John stopped in his tracks, brow furrowing.  
Irene _had_ said that Mycroft would appear, so what–  then it dawned to him.  
 _This_ had been Sherlock’s plan from the start.  
He was such an idiot.  
  
“Mycroft.” Sneered the idiot in question, as if being swathed in pink bands of light could let anyone preserve any amount of pride and decency at all.  
Apparently, Sherlock was immune to everything, even shame.  
“I was simply taking care of _your_ problem. How is dear Chronos faring? Does he _know_ of Moriarty’s escape?”  
  
It was lucky that John had slowly become an adept interpreter of the Holmesian, because he wouldn’t have missed this for anything in the world: Mycroft tensed imperceptibly, he could see his jaw closing firmly.  
Mycroft Holmes had been beaten, for once.  
  
“What do you want?”  
“You know what I want. This was your fault after all, _brother_.”  
If John ever called Harry ‘sister’ with such contempt in his voice, he knew that he’d be decked in the teeth right the following second.  
And Mycroft didn’t bother voice any counter to that, he simply stood straighter and nodded.  
He then opened his umbrella and reached in, tapping some secret spot that had it suddenly become a smoky haze, before melting back into the shape of-  
  
“You disguise the Garnet Rod, the key of the time and space door, as your _umbrella_??”  
John wasn’t aware that he’d talked until he heard his own words, and then Mycroft was turning around and smiling at him, his untruthful smile.  
“It is so inconveniently twardy, I’m sure you agree that it would hardly pass unnoticed.”  
“Yes, but-”  
“That is, you’ll find, none of your concern. Now, may I suggest that we go on with our business?”  
John nodded, still unsure of just what said business was – there was no planet to _have_ business in anymore, thanks to Sherlock.  
He’d have to properly punch him for that.  
  
The two Holmes brothers sneered at each other once again, and then Sailor Pluto, in his strangely-similar-to-a-tuxedo uniform, raised up the Garnet Rod.  
The head part of it dethatched itself and hovered for a moment, as Mycroft recited words to Chronos under his breath – and with all the passion of a marble statue, that is, none.  
And then, the red garnet started to glow, bright, bright, bright, bright, _brighter_ …  
  
He closed his eyes, and when he managed to open them again, reality was back as it should have been – minus one out-of-our-timeline monster.  
Mycroft bowed minutely to him, sent a cold look to everyone else – his brother included – and materialized the doors of space and time once again, stepping through.  
“I believe we’re even, now.” And then something very sinister happened. He smiled, a _true_ and _amused_ smile. “You can let go of that now, John.”  
And then the doors closed and disappeared, taking the Space and Time guardian with them.  
  
John looked down and saw that, even if the pink barrier had disappeared and the Silver Crystal was once again back inside its lodging, he was still clasping the Pink Bands of Super Power that held Sherlock.  
“John, don’t l-“  
Furrowing his brow in confusion, and unwilling just yet to listen to Sherlock I’m-bloody-smart-and-I-will-almost-give-you-an-heart-attack-with-my-reckless-actions Holmes, he let them go and they faded with a _pop_.  
  
A great _pop_ , that made a lot dust rise up.  
  
It settled a few minutes later, and suddenly he understood just why Mycroft had seemed so amused.  
He started to laugh out loud, and soon the rest of his friend followed suit.  
All but Anthea, which was of course just smirking very, very slightly, and Sherlock.  
  
Because Sherlock was sitting on the ground, disgruntled, engulfed in clothing that had become way too big for  him, and had the sulkiest childish pout ever.  
That was, of course, because as soon as John had released his powers Sherlock had transformed in what seemed to be an eight-year-old version of himself.  
  
“I told you to wait!” He was wailing, much like usual childish self, and yet this time it didn’t seem out of place at all.  
John almost fell on the ground from laughing.


End file.
